


Sparrow Spell

by blackkat



Series: let life lightly dance on the edges of time [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Adventure, Character Death Fix, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Mostly Gen, Pre-Slash, Time Travel, ish?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Utakata has never considered himself overly important in the grand scheme of things. But when, rather than returning to the afterlife, he finds himself back in a Kiri controlled by the Sandaime Mizukage, he makes a choice. A few well-placed changes might be enough to shift the course of the future, in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparrow Spell

**Author's Note:**

> Another story for my twin’s birthday (and somewhat for mine as well, because these are kind of really entertaining to write), which is actually today, by happenstance. Totally didn’t plan to post it now, but he wants to read it and who am I to deny my brother anything? 
> 
> This borrows heavily from my Utakata headcanon, since there's not much about him in the actual canon, and assumes he’s the son of the Sandaime Mizukage, because of reasons. Shut up and go with it. Also, Zabuza’s timeline is totally screwy, given his age in the data book and what he’s said to have done, so I just sort of mashed him in there and said the graduation massacre thing was started by the Sandaime. Go with it, please.

He steps towards light and heat and infinite peace, like sun-warmth on his face. It burns like kindness after an endless war, like the heat of a roaring fire after too long out in the snow. Utakata reaches for it with all of his being, turning away from the world of the living that has only ever brought him pain. One step forward and then another, existence unfurling before him bathed in clear, untarnished brilliance, and he takes a breath of air so clear and clean that it burns like sake sliding down his throat.

And then—

And then he hears it. Just faintly, born from the darkness falling away behind him, but heartbroken. Shattered in a way Utakata is intimately familiar with, so very much so that it sends a lance of pain stabbing deep into his chest like a bolt of lightning, and he halts in his tracks. He hesitates, half-turns, because that’s the sound of a child in pain, and there has never been anything Utakata liked less.

The light before him wavers, flickers, as if it’s in danger of going out. Utakata jerks back around, because he’s desperate for the peace that brilliance offers, desperate for a reprieve from all of the pain and betrayal and failures of his life, and he can't imagine what will happen to him if he’s stranded here, caught in the borderlands between life and death. He squares his shoulder, lifts his chin, because surely he’s paid whatever debt he owes humanity. He’s helped Naruto, taken a step towards ending this war, died fighting Pein. Surely now he can rest. Surely whatever gods exist owe him that much at least.

But then the sound comes again, a choked-off sob that tears through the air like a jagged blade, and just for the briefest moment Utakata remembers Hotaru, who should have been his student. Remembers Hotaru crying on her knees as the jutsu sealed within her threatened to tear her apart.

He failed her. He promised to return but didn’t. Just as his master betrayed him, even with the best intentions, Utakata then betrayed her.

In the wake of such a thing, he’s the one with a debt to pay.

One last, aching glance towards the light that’s already fading and Utakata turns on his heel, heading back the way he came. It hurts like a surrender, but he presses forward even as his feet slow, the weight of the return dragging at his limbs. The world is darkening, shading to gray lifelessness around him, but the sounds are closer now, more real. There's an echo here, a cool kiss of breeze against his skin, and his bare feet make noise against the ground that’s rapidly gaining form, like packed earth. Mist is gathering, thick and choking, but Utakata is a Kiri nin and unbothered by such things, striding through it with the sounds to guide him until a huddled shape rises from the gloom.

A child, as he thought, and Utakata sighs softly, folding to his knees and reaching out to rest a hand on one shaking shoulder. The child stiffens, twitching away before he looks up in an instinctive movement that speaks of shinobi training, and Utakata finds himself confronted by a pair of large, wet, wary brown eyes set in a face that’s entirely too pretty for a boy.

“Are you all right?” he asks softly, unable to keep from remembering Hotaru again, so worn and weary.

The boy takes a breath and wipes at his eyes with the backs of his hands, small frame shaking with a few quickly choked-off sobs, and manages a nod. “I just—I can't find Zabuza-san,” he whispers. “He wanted us to go to the same place, so why isn’t he here?”

Utakata remembers the battlefield he just came from, the resurrected shinobi dragged from their final rest and thrown back into a war none of them wanted to fight. This child isn’t wearing a hitai-ate, but that means little. He’s dressed like a Kiri nin, if somewhat more ragged than most, and the bite of his chakra is like a snow-wind in the humid darkness. More than likely, he was one of those called back.

Nodding to himself, Utakata rises to his feet and reaches for his pipe and bubble solution. “Then we should find him and make sure he doesn’t get lost along the way,” he says firmly, reaching out a hand to the boy. “My name is Utakata. Will you let me help you?”

The boy hesitates, wavers, but then he nods quickly, as though afraid Utakata's offer will be rescinded if he doesn’t answer swiftly enough, and grips the proffered hand tightly. “Please. I'm Haku.”

There is a curious tremor to the world, a fine vibration like an earthquake far away, and even as he pulls Haku up Utakata knows it can mean nothing good. Souls linger to wait for loved ones, to guide those newly dead onward. Utakata and this boy are both dead, waiting for someone who is also dead, and that goes against some sort of order, surely.

“Should we split up to look?” Haku suggests after a moment, while Utakata is testing whether his chakra works the same here as it did when he was alive.

“No,” Utakata says after a moment, because when he calls, the power comes. Less than he’s used to, with Saiken gone, but enough. “No, this will be faster.” He raises the pipe to his lips and breathes out equal parts air and chakra, and a stream of bubbles sweep out into the surrounding darkness. Closing his eyes, Utakata follows their myriad paths, waiting for the sudden burst of awareness that will come when one pops.

Outward and outward, further still, and perhaps the darkness is endless, perhaps there is nothing in this space but the two of them and the ever-present fog, and—

 _There_.

“A tall man?” he asks Haku. “With bandages over his face and a sword on his back?”

The relief on Haku's face is overwhelming. “That’s Zabuza-san,” he agrees, and now he’s straightening, pulling his composure up around him like a cloak. “Thank you, Utakata-san. I thought—”

He doesn’t have to say it, but the thought is there in his eyes nevertheless, the fear of missing each other in the dark and the mist, wandering forever in the nothingness.

Another tremor in the air, another faint disturbance like a raindrop spreading ripples across a still pool, and Utakata frowns, glancing around them. It seems…lighter than it was before, as if dawn is breaking, but there's no horizon here, nothing but empty air and swirling fog.

“Utakata-san?” Haku asks softly, but he’s shifting faintly, ready to run, and now isn’t the time for such concerns. Utakata pushes his worry away, tamps it down and turns towards where his bubbles have converged around a wary-looking Zabuza.

“This way,” he says, stepping carefully across the flat ground. It’s steady, but he doesn’t know if it will be for much longer, or how it will change. Now that he’s turned away from the Pure Land, will they be ejected from this place to wander as lonely ghosts? Will they all be cast back to the afterlife by the hand of some aggravated Shinigami, grown tired of their procrastination? Or will they be trapped here as it shakes apart around them, their souls banished into nothingness and torn apart?

Utakata has never been one of optimism, but right now he curses himself for this pessimistic streak that survived even its encounter with Uzumaki Naruto. He’s realized that if it endured that, it’s probably not something he can get rid of.

Bubbles part and shift, sliding away and whirling out to pop in small puffs of chakra-laced solution, and Haku gives a small cry, throwing himself forward. The other man turns, startled, and is just in time to grab the boy by the elbows and hold him close.

“Haku.” The man smiles, just the barest tell of it from beneath the bandages, and pats Haku's head with a large, fatherly, slightly awkward hand. “Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you wanted to see your mom again.”

“You weren’t with me,” the boy says, and Utakata could almost miss the stubbornness in that voice if he hadn’t seen it in the teenager’s face already. “I wasn’t about to leave you here alone, Zabuza-san.”

The man sighs, scrubbing a free hand over his short, spiky black hair. The mist is clearing more quickly now, lifting as though a brisk wind is shredding it around them, even though Utakata can feel nothing on his skin. This stranger is familiar in more than just the clothes he wears, the uniform of one of the Seven Swordsmen. Utakata has met him before and knows him in passing, as much as he once knew all of the Swordsmen and high-ranked Kiri nin.

“We’re probably not going to the same place, Haku,” Zabuza says, not gently, but certainly not unkindly either. It is…startling to see, when Utakata mainly knows him as the Demon of the Hidden Mist. Then again, Utakata is hardly one to judge others based on reputation alone—most of Kiri's rumors have him as a murderous beast with no control. Rather like Zabuza, now that he thinks of it.

Another ripple, space itself trembling faintly, and it’s even brighter now. Utakata casts a wary glance around them, and when he looks back it’s to find Zabuza’s eyes on him, steady and suspicious.

“The jinchuuriki of the Rokubi,” he says flatly. “What’s the Sandaime’s unlucky son doing here?”

Utakata doesn’t bristle, because he’s heard it a thousand times before, and he’s made his peace with what he is, what his father made him into. He folds his arms, tucking his hands into his sleeves, and offers a perfunctorily polite smile. “I heard Haku's distress as I was passing by,” he answers, not allowing his irritation to show on his face. “Since I had already paused in my journey, I offered him my assistance in finding you, Momochi.”

To his surprise, Zabuza doesn’t take offense, doesn’t even try to. He nods, eyes dropping to Haku, who’s looking up at him with steady eyes that are wiser than a teenager’s should be. “Thanks,” he says gruffly. “You didn’t have to stop.”

Inclining his head, Utakata murmurs, “I could hardly do otherwise,” but they both know it isn’t true. Especially for Kiri nin in their generation. Cruelty is the expectation, backstabbing and power-grabbing and betrayal for a single ounce more skill or influence.

Another tremor, but more severe this time, like they're standing on the epicenter of an earthquake shaking reality itself apart. Utakata stumbles as it tears at the ground beneath him, wavers and almost falls, and it’s only the sudden grasp of Zabuza’s hand around his elbow that keeps him upright. Haku is tucked under the swordsman’s other arm, eyes wide but expression grim, and they wait it out, standing close even as the darkness lifts a few more degrees.

“Well,” Zabuza says after a moment, when everything is still again. “That’s new.”

Utakata snorts softly, getting his feet under him and glancing around. It might as well be false dawn now, given the level of light around them, and the ground has changed from bare packed earth to something different, strewn with pebbles and patches of moss that glitter where the mist clings to them. It’s familiar in a way only one thing has ever been to Utakata, and his breath catches in his throat as he makes the connection.

“Kirigakure,” he says softly, and Zabuza glances down at him with sharp eyes, then nods once, sharp and understanding.

“I see it, too.” He releases Utakata to pull out a kunai, though Utakata can't image what good it will do against reality breaking around them. “Somehow, I get the feeling this isn’t the Pure Land shaping itself to our whims.”

Most likely not, given the fact that neither of them hold Kiri in very high regard. Utakata runs a hand through his hair, trying to work out just where they are, but the space around them is still empty. Only the ground has changed, and the level of light. It’s as though the two worlds are bleeding together, and Utakata still isn’t entirely certain what will happen to them when the two cross over completely. There is no beckoning light, no opening into the afterlife for them to step through, just a world shaking itself apart.

And then something _pulls_ at him, like some vast hook dug deep into his chest, and he gasps in pain before he can stifle it, staggering forward a single step before his legs give way beneath him. He falls, and this time Zabuza isn’t quite quick enough to catch him, forcing him to land hard on his knees. That little twinge is nothing compared to the ache in his chest, though, the empty hollowness that suddenly roars to life as the tug comes again, in time with another unsettled ripple of space.

He’s felt this before, but in reverse, when Saiken was being dragged out of him by Akatsuki. He’d tried to call the bijuu back, had tried to reclaim the beast with what little strength he had left, but it was futile. And this—this feels similar, if opposite. Instead of him trying to draw Saiken in, it seems like Saiken is trying to draw _him_ in, to pull him forward and out of the half-lit dimness of this limbo.

“—san. Utakata-san!”

There are hands on him, one small and delicate, the other large and callused. Haku has a hand on his shoulder, while Zabuza is gripping the back of his neck, as if to hold him in place. The air shudders, and this time there's a tearing wrench, like the sky itself splitting, and the tug is changing now, shifting into a dragging pull more irresistible than the tide. Utakata can't even more in the face of it, feels like he’s being drawn towards it atom by atom. It hurts to breathe, to think, and—

“Hey!” A slap, hard and ringing, but the surprise of it, more than the pain, is enough to clear his head at least for the moment, to make him blink up at Zabuza, who’s watching him with narrow eyes. The swordsman studies him for a moment, then asks sharply, “What’s happening to you?”

Utakata presses a hand over his chest, fingers curling like claws in the fabric of his robe as he tries to catch his breath. “Saiken,” he answers, once he’s certain his voice won't shake. “My bijuu—he’s doing something.”

Zabuza goes still, the way someone else might tense. It’s wariness, a watchful sort of waiting. “I thought that blond brat was taking care of the beasts.”

Utakata knows little more than he does, honestly. “I thought so as well. He was sealed into Naruto, but then—I'm not entirely sure what happened after that.”

Haku says something soft and worried, but another wrench at the core of Utakata's being steals the words from his ears, and he doubles over, gritting his teeth to choke down a cry. The hand on his shoulder moves to rub his back, and the grip on the back of his neck tightens, painful but grounding. Utakata hears it then, like a whisper in his mind, a familiar murmur he used to try so hard to push down and shut out.

 _Utakata,_ it says, insistent and stubborn and unrelenting. _Utakata, don’t ignore me again! Child, don’t do this! Listen, listen, listen! It’s all going to start soon, and we can't—_

“Saiken?” he whispers, because there's no doubt that it’s the Rokubi, but the slug hasn’t called him a child in years. Not since he actually was one. “Saiken, what’s wrong? What do you mean, start? What's happening?”

A long, long pause. And then like a flood of supernova warmth, Saiken’s power surges through Utakata again, filling him completely, and he cries out. He hadn’t even realized the emptiness was there, and now it’s completely gone, shoved out by the energetic bijuu as he takes his place once more, curling around Utakata's thoughts with a pleased hum.

 _Here you are,_ Saiken says triumphantly. _I knew you’d be coming along eventually once I felt you stop. Good boy, good boy. I taught you well, didn’t I? Now come back all the way! I'm not going to go through teaching you everything all over again!_

“What?” Utakata asks, utterly confused, but before he can even think of another question the pull is back. This time, instead of a tide it’s a whirlpool, a vortex, catching him up and dragging him forward, and Utakata can't fight it. Even so he considers resisting, thinks of trying, but—

But this is Saiken, and Saiken has never attempted to harm him even when Utakata refused to hear him for so many years. And so he just…lets go.

Saiken catches him, like he always has, cradles him like the waves of the sea, like two vast, warm hands, and bears him into the light.

 

 

He wakes with a gasp, with a cry just barely choked off as he sits bolt-upright in bed, his heart pounding with the aftermath of some great fall, cold night air kissing bare skin where his yukata has fallen open. The room is familiar, even seen in the light of the full moon hanging outside. A child’s room, the room of a boy attempting to be more grown-up than he should—bare and empty, despite his father’s standing, with weapons on the wall but little else. No clutter, no personality, not even a team photo, because Utakata is the Rokubi jinchuuriki and not allowed so close to other children.

He knows where he is, knows _when_ he is and how old that makes him. Thirteen years old, a chuunin studying under Harusame, six years from the event that will break his trust in humanity and turn him into his village’s most wanted missing-nin.

“Saiken?” he whispers into the dark, because there can be no other explanation.

 _Ah! You hear me now!_ The bijuu sounds delighted. _Up, up! We haven’t much time._

“What did you _do_?” Utakata demands in a whisper, but obligingly slides out of bed and heads for his closet. Several uniforms are hanging there, alongside more formal robes, but although it makes him grimace faintly, Utakata takes one of the former and starts stripping off his nightclothes.

 _I felt you stop_ , Saiken explains, as though it should be obvious. _Halfway to the Pure Land, you stopped, so I asked the others for help and pulled us back here. They didn’t mind, but Son and Kurama were grumpy that I had the idea first!_

Utakata tries to imagine all nine bijuu cooperating, and it’s rather more feasible now than before they all met Naruto, but still sort of incomprehensible. “Why now?” he asks, tugging on his fingerless gloves and curling his fingers experimentally. It’s been years since he’s worn them, but they feel…good. Comfortable. The entire uniform feels that way.

He’s never wanted to think that he missed being a Kiri shinobi, that he wanted anything at all to do with his one-time homeland, but—

He does. He always has. It’s _home_ , and nowhere else has ever been.

 _Don’t forget the hitai-ate_ , Saiken reminds him, but the bijuu’s voice has softened with something akin to sympathy. _Why now? Because you were almost here anyway! That made it easy. The world you were in touches all times, and all places. It was simple enough to pull you out of it and into this specific one. If you hadn’t stopped walking, it wouldn’t have worked, because there'd be no anchor for me to touch._

It doesn’t quite make sense, but Utakata sets it aside for later consideration, because it clearly _worked_ , logical or not. “And what’s so urgent that you're getting me up right now?” he says instead, picking up the brightly polished hitai-ate with a faintly bittersweet smile. It has…been a very long time since he wore it last. But nevertheless, he settles it on his forehead and ties it behind his head with the ease of long practice, and the weight of it is nostalgic at the very least.

Saiken doesn’t answer with words. Instead it’s a rush of images—the full moon, Isobu and an unfamiliar host, Kiri nin, Madara, the creature Zetsu, a shinobi with silver hair and a Konoha hitai-ate slanting across one eye. It takes a moment for Utakata to connect the pieces with what he knows, but then—

Oh. _Oh_. This is the night that pushed Uchiha Obito onto Madara's path, the death of the girl he loved which doomed the world to yet another war.

And Madara used Kiri shinobi to do it.

For all his bitterness, Utakata was a child like any other once. He had dreams, and he was loyal, and he loved his village and master with the desperation of one who has nothing else to hold to. His father was the Sandaime Mizukage, and Utakata always admired him, even as he hated him for turning his youngest son into a bijuu. Like every child, he’d dreamed of one day taking the Mizukage’s hat, rising to a position that everyone would have to respect and honor, and…

Such things don’t ever fade completely.

“Can you stop Isobu?” he asks, darting to the window and sliding it open silently. A quick check to judge if anyone is watching, be it friend or foe, and he leaps out, landing lightly on the ground two stories below. He pauses there, because his sister is a notoriously light sleeper and he’s right outside her room, but there's no sound of stirring from within.

 _Of course!_ Saiken sounds offended that he’d even think otherwise. _He’s only got three tails, after all. I'm much stronger. But I'm sure he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. The others came along with me, so he should remember the Uzumaki boy and all he did for us. That will even his temper!_

That alone is probably enough to change the world, Utakata thinks a little wryly, slipping through the shadows and then vaulting over the high wall around the Mizukage’s mansion. Once he’s in the street there's no need for sneaking, so he tucks his hands into his pockets and walks with purpose. He’s a chuunin, an adult, and no one is going to question Kiri's jinchuuriki regardless. Only Harusame would bother, and the old man is probably deep asleep already.

“I assume you know where we’re going?” he murmurs, too soft for the passing jounin to hear.

Saiken debates for a moment, then makes a sound to the affirmative. _I think the Copy-Nin has already rescued his teammate. They're headed back towards the mainland. Go quickly, Utakata. Once they reach Fire Country, Madara's puppets will start chasing them in earnest, and we might not make it in time._

Running at a shinobi’s pace, and factoring in the chakra required to walk safely on water, it takes about four hours to get across the sea. There's been no alarm raised regarding the escaped prisoner, given the ease of the jounin still on the streets, but Utakata assumes Madara would be keeping it a secret, since it’s a personal plan done through manipulation. Whatever hand the Sandaime had in it is likely small, just enough to convince him it was his own idea. Not that such a thing would be hard. He’s a petty man, and easily assured of his own bloated sense of power and might.

Four hours’ head start. That’s a large gap to close, but the Copy-Nin and his teammate don’t have a partnered bijuu to draw upon. Utakata withdraws out his bubble pipe, and reaches for Saiken’s power. It’s offered up without hesitation, pressed eagerly into his grasp, and Utakata wraps himself in a bubble that will hold even at high speeds and lifts it into the air.

It’s only then that a shout reaches his ears.

Startled by the call of his name, Utakata glances down, barely two meters off the ground, and sees another boy his age stalking down the street. He’s tall, with spiky black hair and an oversized sword strapped to his back, and—

“Momochi?” Utakata asks in surprise, and then bites his tongue, because he’s not entirely certain whether he knows the young swordsman yet or not in this time.

“Utakata,” Zabuza answers evenly, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring up at him. “I take it this is what your bijuu was trying to do?”

With a soft sigh, Utakata lets his bubble sink back to street level, directing a jab of annoyance at Saiken. The slug protests, but sheepishly, and Utakata rolls his eyes.

“I believe it was an accident that you were dragged along,” he says apologetically. “Saiken is trying to change history. I'm sorry, but I don’t have time right now. If you’ll wait—”

“I won't. So move over.” Zabuza puts a cautious hand on the edge of the bubble, testing that it will hold him, and when it does he hops in, settling next to Utakata without bothering to ask permission. Getting the feeling that this is completely normal behavior for the brash swordsman, Utakata just huffs a little and adds another layer to the bubble to bear the extra weight, then makes it rise again.

“Do you even know what I'm attempting to do?” he asks, managing to keep most of the dry bite out of his voice.

Zabuza grunts disinterestedly. “Whatever it is, you’ll do better with someone watching your back,” he points out, glancing down at Kiri below them as Utakata guides them forward, already picking up speed as they leave the village behind. “And I’ll make you stop and pick up the kid on our way back, so we’ll be even.”

Utakata doesn’t try to protest. Zabuza likely knows his ward best, and if he thinks taking from his parents, if he has any, as a two-year-old is the best course of action, he’s likely correct. And beyond that, Utakata…likes what he’s managed to see of the boy so far. He’s loyal, at the very least, and Utakata has always respected that trait more highly than most, given his past.

“Do you remember the masked man pretending to be Madara?” he asks, instead of retorting. When Zabuza gives a curt nod, he explains, “He was once a Konoha shinobi. The real Madara turned him down that path by killing the one who was his reason for living. I can't let that happen again.”

Zabuza nods again, eyes turning forwards as he settles himself with his legs crossed and Kubikiribōchō across his knees. Utakata had known, vaguely, that he had started training with the sword at a young age, but he hadn’t realized it was quite so young, honestly. Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. Kiri has never thought of children as anything but small killing machines.

“They're going to miss us,” Zabuza says, after nearly an hour of nothing but water racing away beneath them. “Maybe not me, immediately, but I'm supposed to be at training at dawn, and you're the Mizukage’s son.” _And a jinchuuriki,_ he doesn’t need to say.

Utakata glances at him, then turns away, watching for any sign of the coastline approaching. “They will,” he agrees, and then hesitates. Because…what he’s been thinking, even just vaguely, since the very moment he opened his eyes here is most certainly treason. But if anyone will understand, it’s this man. “Perhaps that will make it easier, when we go back. I am…going to depose my father. A surprise attack while he’s distracted will make things simpler.”

He can feel Zabuza’s eyes on him, sharp and intent. “At thirteen?” he says after a moment.

Keeping his eyes fixed ahead of them, Utakata tips his chin in a faint nod. “Yagura will do it in a month’s time, regardless,” he reminds the other shinobi. “And the revolution will start the bloodline purges. The other countries already call us the Bloody Mist for the graduation exam; I won't give them another reason for it, not when it can be prevented.” He allows himself a faint smile. “It’s what Naruto would do, don’t you think?”

Zabuza snorts sharply at that, but there's amusement buried under the scathing annoyance. He doesn’t answer, but as the shore comes into view on the horizon, he wraps a hand around his sword’s hilt and fingers it lightly. “Well, I can't say no to another revolution, not after trying for so long to start one,” he mutters, and then asks, “You gonna put us down now, bubble-boy?”

Rolling his eyes, because it’s hardly the first time he’s been called that, Utakata waits until they're over land and lets the bubble drop to the ground. He unfolds himself and rises smoothly, already casting his senses out to find the escaped jinchuuriki, but she’s hiding herself well. “Saiken?” he murmurs, and is faintly amused by the way Zabuza twitches. They're hardly about to get dragged across time again. “Can you find the Sanbi from here?”

Saiken casts out his own chakra, seeking, and Utakata can feel it with his own senses when the Sanbi answers, Isobu’s attention like a beacon in the darkness. “This way,” he orders Zabuza, leaping into a run, because now that he knows Isobu’s location he can feel the Kiri nin closing in, dark forms barely a handful of minutes behind the two Konoha shinobi. There's another chakra signal coming as well, two familiar ones wrapped up together, which he assumes means Obito is also on his way. This is going to be close.

“The attackers will be Kiri nin,” he tells Zabuza, who’s managing to keep pace with him. “Madara is controlling them, so don’t hesitate.”

That gets him a wide, fierce grin, visible even in the moonlight and underneath the bandages. “Remember who you're talking to, bubble-boy,” the swordsman retorts. Utakata will admit it was a bit of a foolish request, given how Zabuza’s graduation exam turned out, but he ignores the jab and focuses on the chakra signals ahead of them. The Konoha shinobi have stopped, cornered, and are preparing to fight, but Utakata knows what a disaster that will turn out to be. He redoubles his pace, already calling up Saiken’s chakra and forming the necessary hand seals.

“Suiton: Serpent Mouth!” he hisses, and water surges in a wave around him even as they burst out of the trees. The combatants spin, all of them equally startled, and Utakata lets his jutsu swarm forward, snake heads forming from the rush of water and aiming for the Kiri nin on the far side of the battlefield. They cry out as they're overwhelmed, but Utakata doesn’t allow himself mercy, and keeps them under until he’s certain that they’ve drowned.

Zabuza doesn’t bother with ninjutsu; he simply charges, Kubikiribōchō taking off the head of the first man before he can so much as finish turning, and then heading for the second. But that time, the Copy-Nin has recovered, carving a path through the shinobi in front of him with a kunai and strength born of desperation. The girl hangs back, but Utakata can see the determination in her eyes, how she’s watching her teammate’s kunai, and knows what her choice is going to be. He casts one more quick glance at his opponents to be sure they're dead, then at Zabuza, who’s absolutely fine and laughing like the monster he’s called, and leaps forward to land right in front of Isobu’s host.

“Hello,” he says politely, and when she takes a startled step back he darts in, knocking her out with a careful blow to the back of the head. The other Konoha nin shouts, angry and helpless, but Utakata just rolls his eyes and catches the girl before she can fall. He doesn’t need Saiken’s help to be able to feel the seal, weak and already starting to crack. Isobu is calm behind it, not pushing or fighting, which will likely make it last longer, but since the turtle doesn’t seem to be objecting, Utakata isn’t going to take that risk.

Harusame is a seal master, and Utakata has been taught a little. Between that and Saiken pushing images forward, he has a good idea of what alterations he needs to make. Pulling a bottle of ink and a brush from the pocket of his vest, he leans forward, tugging up the girl’s shirt to study the curving lines just below her ribcage.

Before he can start drawing, however, there's a rush of air, and then and answering one, and Kubikiribōchō blocks the kunai that was aimed at his head.

“Hey,” Zabuza growls. “Back off, kid.”

The Copy-Nin glares right back, Sharingan spinning lazily in his left eye. “You back off,” the boy grits out. He flicks a glance at their hitai-ate and snarls. “I won't let you touch her again. What, did you come back to finish the job?”

“No,” Utakata cuts in coolly, not bothering to look up at the contest of wills going on ten centimeters from his nose. He uncaps his ink bottle, then asks, “Saiken, can you speak to Isobu? Let me know when the seal is stabilized.”

 _Of course_ , the slug murmurs, power stretching out like tendrils across the space between them, and the girl stirs. She opens her eyes with a gasp, going stiff, and the Copy-Nin cries, “Rin!” and attempts to dart forward again, only to have Zabuza fend him off with a glancing blow from the flat of his blade.

“Keep your distance, Hatake,” Zabuza warns. “He’s not about to slit her throat, believe me.”

“Besides,” Utakata puts in without looking up from the lines he’s adding to the seal. “I think you have other things to worry about.” When both boys look at him, he points across the clearing, to where a figure in the shadows is writhing, seemingly fighting himself. “Zabuza, it’s Zetsu. Make sure you leave the boy alive.”

Zabuza laughs, bloodthirsty and eager, and bounds forward without hesitation. Hatake hesitates, but Utakata glances up at him briefly and says softly, “I swear on my honor as a shinobi. I won't harm her. I'm only trying to help.”

The Copy-Nin wavers for one moment longer, but a boy’s shriek of pain makes his head snap up, eyes going wide, and he bolts with a cry of, “Obito!”

The name makes the girl’s eyes go wide as well, but even though her muscles quiver like she’s holding herself back from bolting upright, she doesn’t move.

“Thank you,” Utakata says, a little absently, as he sketches out the final flourishes. “This will keep the Sanbi from breaking free, at least until you can get someone more skilled than I am to look at it. Jiraiya of the Sannin, maybe. Or your sensei, the Yondaime.”

“I should be the one to say that,” she whispers, and there are tears leaking out from under her closed eyelids. “Thank you so much. I thought I had to die, to stop their plan. I thought—”

Utakata lays the last line and sits back on his heels, and from within him Saiken warbles his approval. It makes Utakata smile, and he pushes to his feet, offering the girl a hand up as well. “My name is Utakata,” he tells her, and then lays a hand over his chest. “My partner is Saiken. I'm sure, if you get to know him and treat him with respect, the Sanbi would be more than happy to help you as Saiken does me.”

Her smile is blinding and so utterly relieved that it almost physically aches. “Nohara Rin,” she returns. “Thank you, Utakata-san. I can't say it enough.”

Utakata smiles back, then turns his attention to where Hatake and Zabuza are attempting to strike at Zetsu, who’s wrapped tightly around Obito's struggling form. “Excuse me,” he says politely, then turns and strides towards the battle, letting Saiken’s power rise around him like a cloak. It settles, shifts, splitting into six fiery red tails. Utakata hunches forward, trying to manage it, trying to control it, and then Saiken is there, coiling around his thoughts, helping him manage the surge and ebb of the alien chakra, and Utakata stops grasping for control. Instead, he moves with it like it’s water, slides around the blocks in his mind that scream _too much, enough_ and simply allows himself to _move_.

He’s across the clearing in a blur, slamming bodily into the fighters and knocking Zetsu free. The clone takes one look at him and releases Obito with a snap of unfurling limbs, leaping away and making to dive back into the earth. But Utakata is too fast for it, chases and catches the white clone and winds his nearly boneless body around it. Saiken’s Leech Gap sends corrosive ooze sliding out to wrap around Zetsu, and the clone screams over the hiss of acid and sizzling flesh, but Utakata doesn’t let go until he’s absolutely certain the thing is dead. Only then does he stagger to his feet and away from the smoking corpse.

 _Halfway done_ , Saiken chimes in excitedly as the six tails fade away. _Only Madara and the Black Zetsu left now, and if Isobu helps us that will be easy enough! Maybe even Kurama, if we ask the Leaf!_

“Your optimism is inspiring, Saiken,” Utakata murmurs, pressing a hand over his face as the rush of chakra retreating leaves him dizzy. He doesn’t think he’s ever used quite this much of Saiken’s chakra all at once before, at least beyond his battle with Pein, and he was hardly conscious for the aftermath of that.

Saiken laughs at him, as is likely to be expected, but before Utakata can retort a strong hand closes on his elbow again, holding him upright as he sways. He glances up to find Zabuza watching him, brows faintly raised and bandages hanging loosely around his neck.

“Impressive,” the swordsman says dryly.

Utakata manages a small smile at that. “There's a reason shinobi villages go to war over jinchuuriki,” he reminds Zabuza. “I'm not even very good at controlling Saiken’s power yet. With a few more years…”

Zabuza grins, wide and sharp, showing off his filed teeth. “We’ll make you Mizukage yet, bubble-boy,” he finishes with more cheer than Utakata has seen from him outside of battle. “If you can pull of something like that in plain view of Kiri proper, it’ll be easy.”

His doubtful glance is entirely ignored, so Utakata settles for rolling his eyes and letting Zabuza help him back towards where Rin is waiting. It takes more concentration that it should not to stumble, and it’s a great relief to be allowed to slide back to his knees on the ground.

“Are you okay?” Rin asks, raising a hand that shimmers with medical chakra. Utakata doesn’t resist as she presses it to his chest, but as soon as his head starts to clear he waves her away.

“Your friend needs more help than I do,” he tells her gently, giving her a push towards where Hatake is leaning over the prone form of his male teammate.

Rin casts him an assessing look that says she’s very much a trained medic-nin, but when she goes it’s at a near run that speaks volumes as to her desperation. Utakata leans back a little, closing his eyes and trying to work up the energy to move again.

“You know,” Zabuza says, settling next to him. “Konoha's going to be sending reinforcements soon.”

“I do know,” Utakata agrees wearily. “But it’s important that I speak with the Hokage, and likely the Sannin Jiraiya and Kyuubi’s jinchuuriki as well. They need to know who’s been pulling their strings from the shadows. Can you wait that long to go after Haku?”

Zabuza looks at him for a long moment, then reaches out and grips the back of Utakata's neck firmly, the way he did when the in-between world was shaking apart around them. It’s grounding, not careful but certainly not rough, either. “Whatever,” the swordsman huffs, looking away. “The kid deserves to spend some time with his mom, and if he remembers what happened he’ll take advantage of that. We’ve got another few weeks before things go ape-shit anyway. We can take advantage of the confusion when Yagura makes his move, and use that to come out on top.”

“I was thinking the same.” Utakata glances towards the Konoha team is gathered, already trying to plan it out. “If Konoha will support us, even just in name, we’ll have an even better chance of succeeding.”

 _And I won't let us fail_ , he thinks but doesn’t say, lifting his gaze to the heavy moon above them. _There won't be another war. Maybe I can't lead us to peace alone, but…I can lay the foundations. And I'm sure Naruto will help, once he’s been born._

It makes him smile, to think of it. He’s run away so many times in his life, but what he chose when he went to meet the Kiri Hunter-nin still stands. He’s tired of running. It doesn’t accomplish anything, and it can only hurt him in the end.

So this time, he won't run. He’ll accept responsibility and keep walking, keep forging a path towards the bright future he never had a chance to see.

Zabuza lets go, moves his hand up and ruffles Utakata's dark hair before pushing to his feet, and Utakata watches him head for the other side of the clearing, slinging Kubikiribōchō across his back as he goes.

Maybe this time, Utakata thinks, his smile growing. Maybe this time he won't be walking alone.


End file.
